


A Fate Unavoidable

by HollowSpiritFree



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowSpiritFree/pseuds/HollowSpiritFree
Summary: Dr. Connors is a big, scaly lizard.Peter Parker has superpowers.He'd really prefer to ignore both these things.





	1. The One in Which a Boy Just Wants to be Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Holy guacamole!
> 
> It was almost a year ago that I wrote That Time Tony Stark Adopted Spider-Man, during which I ran a poll (kind of...) and my readers voted for this origin story.
> 
> Then my first year at university shook my life up, and I'm only just now getting the chance to really write again. So, here is the origin story, as promised. Fully planned out, and much better quality than my previous work, if I do say so myself.
> 
> I proudly present to you and thank you for reading A Fate Unavoidable: The Story of a Reluctant Hero.

He has no clean socks.

 

He’s standing in his bedroom holding a door handle, (which he had _ripped off_ the door), his alarm clock is a crumple pile of scrap on his bedside table, there are faint footprints on his ceiling, and he has no clean socks.

 

His day doesn’t get any better from there.

 

He accidentally squirts out half his toothpaste onto the mirror and tears off the sink handle when he goes to brush his teeth, then pulls the shower curtain down in his rush to stop the water spraying up from the new fountain he’d accidentally installed in the bathroom. When he goes downstairs for breakfast, his aunt runs her fingers through his hair and asks, “Where are your glasses, Peter?”

 

So when he’s getting dressed he stands in front of the mirror in his room and watches the world go blurry behind the lenses of his thick glasses and then come into sharp focus once he takes them off. (In other words, the exact opposite of what’s supposed to happen.)

 

Oh, and suddenly he has abs.

 

Peter Parker does not have abs. Peter Parker is a skinny nerd who gets beat up on the regular and geeks out over quantum mechanics. Peter Parker is the type of nerd that is _so nerdy_ that in true, _Breakfast Club_ -era stereotypical fashion, he could only _dream_ of dating his long-time crush, the amazing Mary Jane Watson - he definitely _does not have abs_.

 

So maybe he’s starting to get an inkling of an idea that something strange is going on, he thinks as he shrugs his backpack over his shoulder and heads out the door. And he does not like it one bit.

 

But he’s willing to put his strange morning behind him (more like: let it sit in the back of his mind like the sick feeling he got that one time in fourth grade when he ate too much funnel cake and puked all over Flash - back when they were still friends - after the spinning whirl of a ride at the fair had its way with him). He just has to get through the day, one day at school, and then he can go back to OsCorp. Talk to Dr. Connors, or Gwen, or _someone_ who can help him figure out whatever is going on with him.

 

Except that that’s harder than it really should be.

 

His strange experience in the bathroom (and boy was that a phrase he’d feel awkward using in any situation where someone might overhear him) was not a fluke. He realizes pretty quickly that somehow he’s a lot stronger than he was the day before - like, a _lot_ stronger. (He has vague memories, like a strange fuzzy dream, of a fight in a subway train, of a tingle at the back of his skull and the fluid movement of his limbs - more coordinated than he’s ever been, but also the easy grip that ripped a pole right out of it’s welded-in position. Was that … that _had_ to be just a dream…) He breaks three pencils just in first period and has to pretend like he has no idea how the side of his locker mysteriously developed strange indentations in the shape of his fingers.

 

He’s snappish, and probably more than a little rude. At lunch, his friends (all two of them...) try to speak with him for exactly three minutes before realizing he needs space and backing off. He watches Harry shrug and clap Ned on the shoulder, and tries not to flinch at the light that reflects (too strong, too bright, everything is so _bright_ , and _loud_ , and _too much_ ) off his hair.

 

Not only that, but he can _hear_ a few people talking about how weird he’s been acting all day. From across the cafeteria. Not figuratively, like when you see people looking at you during a conversation - he can actually hear Liz Allen’s voice, on the other side of the noisy, packed room. Make out her words, crystal clear.

 

(What is _happening_ to him?)

 

He drops his head onto the table, and doesn’t even react when something mushy spreads out against his elbow. He drowns in the bubbling sounds of a hundred conversations.

 

When the last bell finally rings, three periods and countless awful little moments later, he rushes out the door and sets off for OsCorp.

* * *

  


He texts Gwen when he’s able to make out the lettering above the doors of OsCorp tower, (much further down the street than he was able to do just the day before, but it’s been a really weird day already and he’s not going to overthink his suddenly acceptable vision right now). She doesn’t respond, but then again she might already be in that lab he’d seen her working in the other day, and she seems like the kind of person to follow safety protocols like not texting in the lab, so ... totally all cool. Really.

 

Except that when he pulls open the reflective glass doors and steps into the lobby, the place is a ghost town. Worse, it looks kinda … demolished. Not a single person in sight, a lot of the glass walls are in shattered pieces all over the floor, and - is that blood? There’s a little puddle of maybe-blood on the floor by the secretary’s desk. The computer there has a pop-up flashing across the screen, some sort of silent alarm.

 

There’s a tingly feeling at the base of his skull that raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

 

His phone chirps (too loud in the silent, empty space). It’s a text from Gwen.

 

> Be quiet
> 
> Lab 705. Hurry

 

With one last glance around the abandoned (crime scene?) lobby, he makes his way to the elevator, carefully stepping over pools of glass shards. The further he travels down the hallway, the stronger the strange tingle at the back of his neck grows.

 

When he gets to the elevator bay, he’s not really surprised that the digital display above the metallic doors reads, “Out of Order.” The silent alarm must have shut them down.

 

He finds the stairwell around the corner and pulls the door open, not really paying attention to the way it sticks until he’s closing it behind him and hears a clinking sort of noise. He looks down at the handle, and notices the chain lock, hanging broken by his hand.

 

(He _really_ has to find Gwen.)

 

He’s surprised by how easily he runs up the seven flights of stairs. He’s hardly out of shape, but it’s still a lot of stairs that he was taking as fast as he possibly could, yet he feels like he could keep going - all the way to the top floor, maybe.

 

The seventh floor is in better condition than the first - no broken glass or blood, that he can see, at least - but just as empty. He finds 705 easily, and knocks as gently as he can, remembering the door and sink handles and the broken chain.

 

He’s not expecting the door to fly open, or for a hand to flash out and yank him by the arm into the lab. The door is quickly shut behind him.

 

Gwen looks at him strangely for a second, eyes all blown wide and scared, but then she pulls him over behind a counter and onto the floor where, he notices, they’re out of sight. She pulls a laptop off the counter and sets it down on the ground in front of them and then he finally understands.

 

It’s a security feed - grainy and black-and-white - and on it he watches as a … giant lizard? A giant lizard rampages through the tower. It breaks through the glass walls and tears equipment apart and - the worst part - it grabs at people - the scientists who are trying to run for safety. He flinches when it grabs ahold of a woman in a lab coat by her neck and pulls her into the air. It seems to be capable of speech, or some approximation of it, as the creature’s mouth moves, but the security footage doesn’t come with audio. The woman, weakly kicking her feet in the air and pulling at the hand around her throat, tries to say something, but that seems to only make the thing more angry. It furiously tosses her behind it (and he really hopes he’s only imagining hearing her scream).

 

“What _is_ that?” He can’t help but ask.

 

“Dr. Connors.”

 

He looks at Gwen in shock.

 

“He tested his cross-species formula on himself. Mutated in the demonstration lab on the first floor. He’s been making his way up the tower.”

 

He looks at the screen again, something grim in his gut.

 

But Dr. Connors has moved on. His eyes widen, and he leans forward, quickly tabbing through cameras, but Dr. Connors is nowhere in sight.

 

There’s a pounding at the door, hollow and low-pitched and chillingly loud and way too close.

 

Dr. Connors lets out something like a roar from the other side of the door, and, to Peter’s shock, a dent forms in the door, bulging inward.

 

They need to move.

 

Peter looks around the room, but there are no other exits. Except …

 

There’s another bang on the door, another dent forms.

 

He gauges the distance, runs the numbers in his head as quick as he can.

 

It won’t work. Not unless they’ve got something to slow their velocity. Something like …

 

He looks around the lab again, and spies a few things that look promising. He grabs the metal pieces and a welding torch.

 

“Gwen! How much do you know about these?”  


“What?” She sees the small vial Peter is holding. “Is now really the time, Peter?”  


“Do you know the tensile strength?” He calls out over another loud noise from the door. (He’s trying really hard not to look in its direction, flimsily holding panic at bay with a shield of tissue paper will.)

 

Gwen catches on to what he’s asking in an instant, and he watches her gaze flit to the window and back. “You’re joking. You’re not joking. Um, a couple hundred pounds. At best? Peter, you can’t actually be thinking…”

  
But he’s in a zone now, fueled by anxiety and sheer survival instincts, the base of his skull practically burning. He sets the things down on the counter, but something’s missing. He casts  a final glance around the room, but he doesn’t have time…

 

He sends a quick thought of apology up to the sky, and takes his father’s old watch off. The welder’s torch lights up the work station, hot on his face and he burns his fingertips. The thing is hastily put together, sloppy, but it should work.

 

It has to.

 

There’s a final loud noise from the door, and Gwen screams. Dr. Connors has shoved one large, scaly arm through the door, and his clawed hand grips the material tight and _pulls_ and -

 

Peter grabs Gwen around the waist and makes a break for it. The glass shatters as he barrels through the window.

 

And then they’re flying.

 

Not really. There’s a moment where time seems to stop, with them suspended 85 feet in the air, but all too quickly it rushes back at them, and he’s scrambling to find a place to shoot the biocable at. He winds up aiming at a light pole not too far away, and can’t hold back the gasp as the biocable actually _attaches_ and they pendulum over to the intersection. They pass it by at first, completing the pendulum motion by rocking upwards, but as they come back down he turns his body to face where they’re going and presses the button to release the biocable.

 

They drop to the sidewalk, and stumble, but they’re alive and mostly unharmed, and he considers that a victory.

 

Above them, Dr. Connors lets out an enraged roar.

 

He notices a cut on Gwen’s forehead, probably from the glass. He doesn’t even realize he’s running a finger along it until Gwen ducks her head and brings a hand up to it.

 

“It’s fine,” she says, but now aware of the world, Peter spies the ambulances that are parked alongside the building they’d just escaped from, about halfway down the block. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her over, and maybe it’s not actually fine, or maybe she just realizes his nerves are fried and he needs the reassurance that she’s really alright, but either way she doesn’t argue.

 

There’s a crowd gathering on the sidewalk in front of the OsCorp tower. Someone within the crowd lets out a loud, “Look!” and points at the sky just as they approach the paramedics.

 

There’s another roar from the tower, and Peter looks up to see Dr. Connors has emerged from the broken windows and is clinging to the wall. Hovering before him is Iron Man.

 

Iron Man raises one metal arm, and Peter is surprised to realize that even from this distance he can see Iron Man’s palm light up before some sort of ray pulses out of it and impacts Dr. Connors. The doctor, though, only lets out a snarl and swipes at the air in front of him, like some sort of scaley King Kong (he should really stop watching old movies late at night).

 

An arrow goes whizzing through the air, exploding in front of Dr. Connors who bellows monstrously and throws himself onto the roof of a neighboring building. Iron Man rockets after Dr. Connors. There’s a moment of tense silence in the crowd, unable to see what’s going on.

 

They all let out horrified gasps when the Black Widow is thrown from the building, and cheer when Iron Man catches her, but then he’s rushing toward them.

 

Iron Man lands heavily in between the ambulances and hands the Black Widow off. He takes three steps away from the crowd, each one shaking the ground, and then flames burst out from the boots and gloves of the suit and Iron Man takes off again.

 

The next beam he aims at Dr. Connors finally sends him running, letting out a final shriek before disappearing among the rooftops.

 

Iron Man returns to collect his injured teammate, and they become a small dot in the sky headed for Avenger’s Tower. Most of the crowd disburses a moment later, but Peter is rooted to the ground, looking at that big A glowing faintly across the burrough.

 

“Peter, are you alright?”

 

He glances down at the hand gently wrapped around his wrist. “I’m fine,” he says. “There’s something I have to do.”

 

And ok, maybe it’s a jerk move, leaving Gwen there with the ambulance. But somewhere in the city, Dr. Connors is alone, and maybe scared, and probably hurt and confused, and it’s all Peter’s fault. Peter’s fault, for giving him that algorithm, for turning him into a monster. And somewhere else in the city, there are people who can help.

 

He hopes.


	2. In Which a Boy Just Wants to Do the Right Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry this took so long! I published the first chapter just a few days before I started a really intense summer chemistry course. I got an A-, which I'm really proud of, so it was worth doing nothing but chemistry for the last six weeks, but in that time the only things that have been going through my head are stoichiometric ratios and thermodynamics. You know that meme? The "When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?" one? Yeah, I am actually Tony right now. 
> 
> I'm also sorry that this chapter is kind of filler, but hopefully I included enough subtle hints as to what's going to happen (and maybe a bit of humor?) that you're still interested.
> 
> Anyway, I'm really glad I finally got the chance to get this chapter out, and I should have the last one finished up before I go back to school!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left kudos and bookmarked this fic. I really do appreciate your feedback, and constructive criticism is always welcome.

If there’s one thing that Steve has come to expect from Avengers’ Tower, it’s that it’s always loud. Whenever Clint and Sam are in the same room, both their voices and the volume on the television are always raised. Not in a bad way - it’s just that their excited chatter could be heard from the other side of room, even in Tony’s unnecessarily large common area. Never large enough to drown out the ‘music’ that Tony plays, though (rougher than any music Steve remembers, and sounding more like someone is just beating their instruments against each other than actually playing them, but anytime he complains about anything from this century, Tony calls him an old man among other, more insulting terms). 

 

It’s always the worst, though, when Thor’s around. And he feels bad for thinking it, and will never say it out loud since the god’s a genuinely good person and his presence is fairly rare as is, but he has no concept of an ‘inside voice.’ Of course Steve remembers a time when he and Buck and the rest of the Howling Commandos had crowded around sticky bar tables and talked over each other until it was so late in the night that it was actually early again, but it’s been a long time since those days, (for once both to the people around him, as well as in his own head). Now whenever he’s at the Tower, he finds quiet more precious than gold. 

 

He’s never completely alone, and that’s not a bad thing by any means. Sam has a knack for noticing when he’s drowning in the noise (so much louder since the serum and there are so few people that understand that), and Natasha is vibrant but never loud. The best, though, is Bucky. Bucky, who is  _ back _ , alive and back, even though it took him time to come back, and sometimes he’s still finding his way, and even though Steve aches when he thinks about why, he’s also grateful that Bucky appreciates the quiet like he does because they can sit together in the calm of their shared quarters in the Tower and just let the sun set outside their window on a world that’s so strange from what they remember, and it can be  _ warm  _ and  _ quiet _ .

 

Now, though, he’s surrounded by silence in a room full of some of the liveliest people he’s ever known, and it’s the coldest he’s felt since waking up in a new century.

 

“What even  _ was  _ that thing?” Clint finally breaks the silence with the million dollar question, but no one has an answer. At least, not a good one, Steve thinks, when Tony starts talking to the walls and their blank faces. He thinks that Bruce is probably the only the person that could understand Tony, even if they were all paying attention, but they’re not, because Natasha is still laying pale and still on a gurney in medbay, broken leg set and sprained shoulder already carefully wrapped, bed bent upwards so as to not put any undue pressure on her chest where her ribs are bruised and covered by bandages.

 

“Reporters are calling the creature the Lizard, Mr. Barton. Incidentally, Sir, you have a visitor who claims to be able to offer some assistance with the issue. Shall I send him up?”

 

Tony stops mid-tirade, and seems to examine the walls for a minute, before he shoves his chin forward and mutters to himself for a moment and scratches his chin. “Alright, J, sure. Send ‘em up.”

 

It’s only a few moments later that the elevator lets out a cheerful little chirp and the doors slide open. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Clint and Tony making faces of distaste when a kid steps out of the elevator, but there’s something about him that has Steve holding back judgement. 

 

The kid is fairly tall, probably close to six feet, and thin. He’s got messy hair and thick glasses and he’s wearing a sweater vest of all things. He’s also wringing his hands nervously and staring at the floor, and Steve likes to think he’s spent enough time around SHIELD (and Natasha especially) to recognize that for some reason he’s feeling guilty about something, not just nervous about meeting ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,’ as Tony seems to think.

 

“Look, kid, we’re kind of busy right now. I appreciate the tenacity - never let it be said that I’m not an awesome role model, J - but we really need to focus on taking care of this creature right now, so if you don’t mind, we’ll autograph your baseball cap after New York is safe, mmkay?”

 

There’s fire in the kid’s eyes.

 

That’s the first characteristic Steve takes in; he’s a fighter, even if he couldn’t struggle his way out of a wet paper bag. Then a wry smile twists its way onto the kid’s lips, and he straightens up, shrugging and then squaring his shoulders. It’s makes him seem taller and quite suddenly more confident. “Sure, I guess. I mean, yeah. You could definitely take down Connors  _ eventually _ ,” and he sees Tony puffing up, like he’s getting ready to defend his honor, but Steve’s caught what slipped past Tony, and now the kid has his full attention, “but to expedite the process, let’s get past that massive ego of yours, Mr. Stark - sir - and actually let me help you, maybe?”

 

Clint’s the one who answers. Steve can hear the smirk in his voice, something teasing (to maintain something normal, Steve thinks, because  _ Natasha still hasn’t woken up yet _ ) but he’s also not slouching down low in the armchair anymore, so Steve thinks that’s he’s probably latched onto what Tony missed, as well. “And how’s a nerdly little brat like you gonna be able to help up?” He asks.

 

The kid takes a deep breath, and finally meets someone’s eyes when he looks straight at Clint and says, “Because I created him.”

* * *

 

Tony and, to an extent, Bruce take over questioning the kid after that. From what Steve can gather, the kid had discovered some of his father’s research, from before he died, and sought out his father’s former partner to finish his work, only for it end rather poorly.

 

“It was supposed to be an end to disease and disability,” the kid said with a voice that half-awed at the grandeur of their plan, and half-full of despair. “Even with the inherent faults in the current version of the decay rate algorithm, there was potential. But Dr. Connors tested it on  _ himself  _ and …” The kid ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what kind of mental state he’s in right now; he definitely didn’t recognize me or Gwen when he was tearing the building apart around us.”

 

Bruce shuffles his feet and quietly excuses himself; Steve can’t help but wonder how similar this story is to his own. He’s heard the basics of course, but … He catches Sam’s gaze and nodes at the door Bruce had just ducked out of.

 

“I suggest we take some time to collect ourselves and come up with a decent strategy before our next confrontation with the Lizard,” he side-eyes the kid as he utters the codename, wondering what he’ll think of it, but the kid is watching the sun set out the large windows across the room, and for the first time Steve sees his shoulder slump, almost as if now that things are in the Avengers’ hands, an even greater weight has been placed on them.

 

“Great idea, capsicle! (For once…) Hey, I have one, too! Kid, you should stay here for awhile - it’s getting pretty late, and it’s not like I don’t have the space….” 

 

The kid looks at Tony - no,  _ examines  _ him, for a moment. Steve’s not quite sure what he’s looking for, but he must find it, or at least be satisfied with what he does find, because after a second he nods. Just once, and it’s hesitant, shoulders still rounded, but it’s an agreement. He says, “Alright. But I should call my aunt, let her know what’s going on. And I need to check up on Gwen - she was in the building when Connors …” He trails off, eyes dropping to his feet.

 

“Sure,” Tony says easily. “Spare room’s down the hall, third one on the left. You can make your calls in there.”

 

Steve wonders what the kid must be feeling. It’s not his fault that Dr. Connors chose to test their serum on himself, but that he did, and it caused what was happening now … and that Peter had helped create the serum…. Steve knew that he’d be feeling overwhelmingly guilty.

 

As the kid shuffles past him, he squeezes his shoulder gently, all too aware of the fragile bones beneath his fingers, feeling their prominence and just-almost cringing when he imagines them grinding together beneath his palm.

 

It’s been awhile since he’s interacted with normal, unpowered civilians. 

 

He watches Peter’s slight form slip down the hall, and wonders how similar their childhoods were. Probably not much, he thinks, considering the way the whole world seems like a different place entirely, but enough. He knows what it’s like to be the skinny kid, awkward and alone, willing to mouth off to people much stronger than he was.

 

On second thought …

 

He turns to Tony. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“What? It’s getting dark and there’s a rampaging Lizard-Man out there. You can’t honestly tell me you want that kid walking home under those circumstances! Cap! I thought you were better than that!”

 

He gives Tony his best disapproving stare. Tony primps for a minute, and then says, with most of the sarcasm out of his voice, “He explained some of what went into causing the mutation that turned Connors into  _ that _ ,” he sweeps a hand in the direction of the window, as if the Lizard were waiting there for them, “but we still don’t know everything. It would be useful to have him around. After all, he’s pretty smart. He  _ was  _ capable of modifying his dad’s formula and actually enabling post-embryonic cross-species hybridization. That’s some heavy stuff. It’ll be useful to have him with us if we decide the best way to stop Connors is to create a cure, and I’ll admit that, even considering this incident (or maybe because of it) I definitely want him. Working for me, I mean! Jeez, stop looking at me like that Bird Brain!”

 

Everyone present gives Tony mildly disapproving looks. Then the sound of Peter’s soft footsteps comes down the hall, and they turn just in time to see him reenter the common area.

 

“Peter!” Tony cries, sweeping through the small crowd to approach the kid. He wraps his arm around the air around Peter’s shoulders. “So, you’re pretty smart.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“I think so, and I know smart.” He flashes a blinding grin, all too-white teeth and no feelings. “I want you to stick around here, for awhile at least. Could work in my labs, say you have an internship or something. Y’know, so you have a reason to stick around while we’re dealing with Connors.”

 

Peter looks at Tony with some indistinguishable expression in his eyes.

 

“I guess that would be a good idea.”


	3. The One in Which A Boy Finds A New Family (And a Hero is Born)

It was strange, spending so much time around the Avengers. His inner child was screaming for joy - after all, he was spending every evening after school with the  _ Avengers _ , actual, real life  _ superheroes _ ! They’d drag him out of the lab around seven and watch a movie together, or feed him dinner. He watched the Black Widow tease Hawkeye over pad thai, actually got to meet Captain America (“Please, call me Steve.”) and the Winter Soldier who let him examine his metal arm with only a little awkwardness on both sides. But it was also terrifying.

 

He’d finally managed to reliably hold a pencil the whole day without it snapping between his fingers. He still was terrified by the thought of touching anyone, though. He worried that he’d shatter bones as easily as he’d snapped pencils and ripped apart his home - all accidentally. He knew that he’d most likely have to get help eventually; there was no way that he could continue to put the people around him at risk, but he had to clean up his mess before the Avengers discovered what he’d become and tried to send him away to that school for mutants or something. He couldn’t leave Aunt May and Uncle Ben and Gwen in danger because of his mistakes.

 

To that end, he’d spent most of his evenings since approaching the Avengers working in Tony Stark’s amazing labs with the actual Dr. Bruce Banner (“He’s got more of a head for biology and chemistry than I do,” Tony Stark had said.). First they went over his algorithm, and man was it incredible to see Dr. Banner’s brow crinkle in concentration, and then smooth out with ... awe? At his work! Peter Parkers! Dr. Banner told him that the algorithm was well put-together, and shouldn’t be the cause of Dr. Connors’ transformation (well, it definitely turned him into a lizard-man, but not  _ the  _ Lizard) so they began to break down the actual experiment.

 

Within three days, they had it.

 

“It’s likely the fluid in which the external DNA and gene editing virus were injected into the subject. Even trace amounts of mercury can cause neurological disturbances,” Dr. Banner explained, “and the effects of extreme radiation exposure are still being studied. We also know next to nothing about post-embryonic genetic alterations, considering most of the few experiments with surviving test subjects, prior to this incident, I suppose, are in this very tower…. And we know even less about cross-species hybridization. There’s also the possibility that Dr. Connors’ emotional changes could have some roots in psychology. To regrow limbs, to suddenly have such power … he’d be feeling invincible. Combined with the other factors…”

 

(Did that mean that the reason why Peter hadn’t gone crazy was because he felt so out of control?) “That explains why he didn’t recognize Gwen and me… but what’s he trying to do?” Peter asked. He drew a finger through the air down the list of chemicals and equipment that had been stolen in the past few days. The algorithm and formula from OsCorp that had turned him into the Lizard… a centrifuge from a genetic testing lab… an industrial, pressurized hose… various computers, monitors, and similar items. Peter could understand some of them, the centrifuge, the formula, the computers … if he wanted to run his own experiments, figure out a way to heal himself … but the hose? It just didn’t make sense.

 

Unless… “What’s the most basic biological necessity?” 

 

“Survival.”

 

But Peter was already shaking his head in that emphatic, twitchy way that he knew he had when he was stubbornly on something. His hands came up, almost like they were going to press against his ears. “More - more basic. It drives everything animals do - the will to eat, to defend yourself, protect your young….”

 

“Peter, if you have a point, get to it. I don’t mean to be rude, but we have more pressing issues than the … breeding … habits …. You think he’s trying to reproduce?”

 

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s the only creature in the world like himself. All living beings seek to continue their species.”

 

“So then this equipment. He’s seeking to, what? Forcibly transform people? How?”

 

“The formula we created was an injection. But theoretically, if it were pressurized, made more potent, it could be turned into an aerosol. If it was inhaled, and then absorbed into the blood …” He began scrolling through the documents quickly.    
“That accounts for the centrifuge, some of the chemicals he stole, the pressurized hose … the hose!” He whirled around to face Dr. Banner, dragging a hand through his hair. “How wide an area do you think he plans on infecting?! And he’s almost got everything he would need… he just needs a source of radiation at this point!”

 

“I’ll let the team know… until we have an idea of what he’ll be trying to get ahold of, though, and from where, we should prepare for the worst. We need an antidote.”

* * *

 

Later than evening, when Peter was hanging from ceiling by a web and shovelling down cold chinese food an hour after dinner, he watched a reporter wearing a serious expression stand outside the giant, barbed fence of a military-looking building and explain, “Earlier this evening, this army testing facility reported a break in and robbery. The perpetrator, who was described by one worker as a, ‘seven foot tall dragon,’ can be assumed to be the same creature some are calling the Lizard. Workers say that the only things stolen was a supply of radioactive metal. It is unknown what the Lizard plans on doing with the-” He flipped the TV off.

 

Moving silently through the house - avoiding the creaky stair about halfway down and the groaning floorboards in the living room, he grabbed a jacket and left, closing the door silently behind him. 

* * *

 

Tony and Bruce entered the lab at a quarter to six, surprised to see Peter already diligently at work.

 

“Kid, don’t you have school?”

  
“Not today. Dr. Connors found his source of radiation. If this antidote isn’t finished … I can’t worry about math tests right now.”

 

And so the race began. Peter spent the rest of the day in the lab, bouncing ideas off Dr. Banner, all the while a nauseous feeling built up in his stomach. But the worst part was the headache. There was a knot of tension in the back of his neck. Every little unexpected movement and sound made him flinch and ramped up his anxiety. At some point, Falcon -  _ Sam  _ \- had popped in to check on them with a concerned expression. He studiously avoided every single bubbling, steaming beaker and piece of equipment. Peter tried to ignore his pitious expression, but he couldn’t help but notice the strange look in his eyes when Sam clapped him on the shoulder and he jumped. He hoped that neither of the Avengers noticed the nearly silent squeal of metal when his fingers dug into the workbench.

 

When Dr. Banner excused himself for a moment, he examined the grooves he’d left in the steel surface.

 

And then, after numerous explosions, felled lab rats, and stressful days … it was finished. 

 

He held the vial of little blue liquid before his face. This was it. The cure - oh, it couldn’t make Dr. Connors human again - it was likely that nothing ever could, Dr. Banner said. He should know - he’d searched for a very long time after his own incident. Inside, Peter thought that that didn’t bode well for making him normal again, either. But the liquid should repair most of the neurological damage caused by the injection, and at least give him a human appearance. With hard work and discipline he should be able to return to a normal life. Eventually.

 

It turned out that the antidote was finished none too soon. Shortly after Peter had crashed, that evening after carefully storing the antidote, he was woken up by blaring alarms and flashing lights. The Avengers were being called to action - and this time, Peter was going to join them.

 

“It would be best, since you understand the formula and its antidote and how to use it, and generally the Hulk is a last resort, for you to go in. The team will protect you, Peter,” Dr. Banner explained, “but you’ll need to either spread the antidote, or at least remove your formula before anyone can be infected.”

 

“Ready to be a hero, kid?” Tony teased. Peter tried not to puke. He wasn’t a hero. If anything, he was the Frankenstein to Dr. Connor’s monster.

 

Sam stopped him before they stepped out to the helipad. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Peter,” he said. “We’ll make sure you’re safe, ok?”

 

But all Peter could think about was how different their attitudes might be, if they knew that Dr. Connors wasn’t the only monster he’d created.

 

In the helicopter, he sat between the Winter Soldier and Hawkeye, and tried to make himself as small as possible. He wondered if it would hurt, having that metal arm crushing his windpipe.

 

He wondered if it wouldn’t feel like anything.

* * *

 

The helicopter landed on the roof of the building across the street from the tower that Dr. Connors apparently planned on launching his aerosol from.

 

Peter took in the sight of the OsCorp tower, shining brightly in the light of the setting sun, and thought that he’d be fine if he never saw it again.

 

Clint wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist and told him to hold still, and then they were free falling. He didn’t have enough hair in his lungs to scream, and suddenly felt a lot of sympathy for Gwen.  _ Sorry _ , he thought wryly.

 

When they got to the front door, Clint went in first, with an arrow already nocked and ready. He advanced slowly into the lobby, which, Peter noticed when he followed after Steve and in front of Natasha and the Winter Soldier, had been cleaned up. They crept along to the elevator bay that just a week ago Peter had found to be out of service, in a similar situation. This time, they worked just fine, and Peter shoved himself in the corner behind the Avengers, who kept themselves ready for any trouble. That is, until the elevator suddenly stopped working, around ten floors lower than they needed to get. The four Avengers shared a look, before Steve pried the metal doors open. Natasha shimmied through the opening first, followed by Clint who dragged Peter through as if he were incapable of getting through on his own.

 

They started down the hallway, passing by labs that hadn’t been put back into shape nearly as well as the lobby had. Only a few minutes later, the heard heavy steps, and then -

  
Through the window game flying both Iron Man and the Falcon. Over the comm unit in Steve’s ear, Peter heard Dr. Banner telling them that the Lizard wasn’t visible on any cameras they had circling the place - he was likely somewhere in the building still.

 

Iron Man’s steps thudded ominously in the dark hall, but it was reassuring having what amounted a man-shaped tank supporting them. 

 

Until he wasn’t anymore.

 

About halfway down the hall, an alarm suddenly went up, with a bright flash of red lights and a whirring alarm. Walls made out of sheets of metal came down from the wall, separating Peter, Natasha, and Steve from the other four. They could hear Tony cursing over the comms, but not through the wall. Natasha examined the edges and corners of the wall but, “There’s no way to open this cell from inside.”

 

Steve ran a hand over the wall. “And this is steel… it's’ beyond my ability to break through. Tony, can you open these walls up?”

 

There was no answer, for a minute. Then Clints voice came through. “‘Fraid not, Captain. Whatever’s going on, Tony’s shut down. We can’t get out, either.”

 

Peter stared at the shiny gray walls, imagining grooves in them like he had ground into the work bench. Come to think of it…

 

Even that had been effortless. A reaction…. He looked at the Avengers he was trapped with. Would they be angry?

 

He cleared his throat. “I may have a plan,” he whispered. Instantly, the heroes he shared a cell with gave their full attention to him. He walked over to the wall that separated them from the other Avengers. He dug his fingers into the wall, which let out a loud squeal, more metallic than nails on a chalkboard, in some ways much worse. His fingers had left long crevices in the metal. As awful as the sound was, it would work.

 

He drew a fist back, and punched right through the metal. 

 

“Peter!” He heard Steve gasp. He grabbed hold of the edges of the hole he punctured into the metal, and ripped downwards, then pushed outwards. Kept pulling it apart like tissue paper until the jagged-edged strips of metal lay in a pile on the floor, and he was looking into the shocked faces of Clint and Sam.

 

“Dr. Connors isn’t the only monster I created.”

 

Steve cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about that later. Until then, let’s move. Peter, can you open up the other wall?”

 

He looked down at the knuckles of his hand, the skin unblemished and perfectly smooth.

 

“You got it, Captain.”

* * *

 

They made slow progress down the hall, having to stop and let Peter tear through another wall every couple of feet. He wasn’t even winded, wasn’t tired, even by the fifth one. They finally reached the end of the hall where there was a door that opened into the stairwell. The door was locked, but with one strong turn of the handle, Peter broke the lock and crushed the handle in the process. The door swung open.

 

“Dude,” Clint whispered, leaning into the Captain. “Look at that skinny nerd. He’s stronger than you!”

 

Steve didn’t dignify that with a response, brushing past Peter to lead the way. 

 

Now that he was working at full capacity, Peter didn’t bother hiding anything about him that was different. At this point, it simply wouldn’t do any good to try and hide things. So as they ran up the stairs, he kept pace with Steve, and the Winter Soldier, who gave him a look that might have been surprised on anyone else’s face.

 

“The Lizard just came up on the roof - access point on the thirty second floor. It looks like he’s starting to climb the side of building,” Dr. Banner’s voice came tinny over the comms. “You have to get Peter up there to handle the formula now!”

 

There was a moment where the entire team stopped, halfway up another flight of stairs, and just … looked at each other. And then Peter felt smooth metal wrapping around his waist with absolutely no give. “Hold on tight, kid!” Tony called.

 

The glass shattered around them when Iron Man burst out through the window, and Peter ducked his head into the shoulder of the suit, squeezing his eyes shut. He hooked one of his own, fleshy legs around the metal leg of the Iron Man suit and felt his fingertips become one with the back of the suit. The leg that wasn’t wrapped around Iron Man’s own dangled uselessly, 300 plus feet in the air, but the way Tony held him prevented him from properly clinging to the suit the way every instinct in his body demanded. 

 

They landed on the strip of roof on the thirty second floor where the tower narrowed. Dr. Connors turned large, yellow, inhuman and uncaring eyes on him.

  
“Peter,” he hissed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

 

Peter cleared his throat. “Actually, I should. This is my responsibility - I promise, I’ll help you.”

 

The Lizard roared, and charged, one hand rearing back with fingers spread wide to expose large, sharp claws. A stabbing feeling exploded in his neck. He rolled along the ground in time to see the Lizard rise from his stumble and notice Iron Man. Rage filled the reptilian eyes, and the Lizard let out a roar.

 

He only made it a few steps, when suddenly, with a _ thwip _ -ing noise, wet webbing impacted the scaly back of the Lizard, and Peter  _ yanked _ . The Lizard staggered back, almost falling right into Peter. He glanced behind him, saw Peter standing there, and his hand lashed out.

 

Peter felt the impact, the tight pressure around his throat, the way it crawled up into his cheeks and pulled at the corners of his mouth. His lungs seized in his chest without air.

 

So when he suddenly could break again, it was a relief. One that was short lived.

 

“Peter!” He heard someone shout. Probably Tony. There was a dizzying sense of finality and wind ripping through his hair as he stared down at the ground rushing up to meet him. Almost in slow motion, he turned his attention to the wall he was free falling alongside. One hand reached out, first just sliding along glass, but then he felt it. The tingling sensation, like he was meshing with the glass. 

 

The sudden stop jarred his arm - he imagined a normal person would have just ripped their arm right out of their shoulder socket. But he was mostly fine. He swung his other arm around, latching onto the wall.

 

And he climbed.

 

By the time he popped up over the lip of the roof again, the other Avengers had arrived. They were all locked in a fight with the Lizard. Clint was peaking out of a window two floors up, Captain and Bucky were holding ground and Tony was floating out in the sky drawing the Lizard’s attention while Natasha attempted to flank him. Just as the Lizard lunged forward to swipe at Cap, Peter saw his chance. He surged up over the edge of the roof and sprinted forward. He took a running leap, latching onto the Lizard’s back, and began to crawl around his large, scaly body, releasing globs of webbing that spread out to restrain him. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, the Avengers staring in shock, but at that moment, there was a chiming noise from the top of the tower, and he looked up in time to see blue glowing numbers begin a countdown.  _ 7... _

 

“Ah, crap!”

 

He flipped off the Lizard’s back and released a long string of webbing.  _ 6... _ It impacted wetly about three quarters of the way up the tower, and Peter yanked himself up, flying through the air until he landed, sideways on the tower.  _ 5… _ He started running upwards, until the tower began shaking beneath his feet. He glanced down to note, with horror, that the Lizard had escaped his binds and was attempting to climb the tower after him.  _ 4... _ Accompanied by a litany of words that Aunt May would wash his mouth out with soap for, Peter began racing up the tower faster, _ 3… _ reaching the end of his webbing and then resorting to crawling up the tower by his hands. He heard the distinctive sound of Iron Man’s gauntlet firing up, and then the Lizard let out a pained hiss.  _ 2... _

 

He reached out for the vial desperately.   _ 1…  _ The mechanism rumbled ominously, shaking wildly, and with a high-pitched beep, the blue number flipped over. _ 0 _ . The vial stilled, and then started to release the mist like a geyser just as his fingers closed around the vial of blue liquid. He ripped it out of the mechanism, and with his other hand pushed the green vial into place. The geyser slowly morphed from blue to bright green, and with a second, final shake, the geyser widened, began to spew into the air with even more force.

 

The shudder of the tower knocked Peter loose. He tumbled backward, falling through the air back to the roof and the battle below. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the little drops of antidote impact Dr. Connors’ scaly flesh and let off steam as scales cave way to soft human flesh. And then he landed.

 

Right in the arms of Captain America, who grinned down at him.

 

“Well, you’ll need some training,” he said, “but I think we can make an Avenger out of you yet.”

* * *

 

Dr. Connors was arrested. He had tried to turn all of New York into a cheap lizard exhibit, after all.

 

Sam drove him home after the police had taken their statements, and told him they’d love to see him at the tower again that weekend. Aunt May was waiting for him, and immediately wrapped him up in a hug despite them not having said anything about his part in the fight to the police or reporters who had immediately bombarded them with questions as soon as they’d made it back to the street.

 

Peter went back to school on Monday, to absolutely no reaction.

 

A few people asked him what it was like to meet the Avengers, but not a single person mentioned his part in saving New York. 

 

Peter thought he liked it that way.

 

When he returned to Avenger’s tower Saturday afternoon, he did so by crawling through one of the many windows in the communal area on their personal floor. Steve and Natasha were watching Clint and Sam play Mario Kart on Tony’s obnoxiously large TV, but spared smiles and waves for him when he called out, “Honey, I’m home!” with a giant grin on his face.

 

Only a few seconds later, Tony was bursting into the room and dragging him down to the lab. He wheedled at Peter until he showed Tony his webshooters, and then they spent the next few hours working out improvements on the quickly-put together tech. 

 

Before Peter left that night, Tony said he had one last thing to show him.

 

“It’s just a prototype right now,” he warned him. “But we all think you have promise.”

 

It was a suit, all his own. A cheerful mix of bright red and blue, decorated with a webbed pattern with a spider emblem on the chest.

 

“This … this is incredible, Mr. Stark,” he said.

 

“Then you can report for training tomorrow morning in the Avengers’ gym,” he heard behind him. The Avengers, all of them, were standing crowded around the entrance to the lab - his team. His small, sort of dysfunctional new family.

 

He hid the smile on his face as he strapped his webshooters back on and took a running leap out the window. He might not think he was hero material, but the Avengers did. And he would spend as long as he had to living up to that. He had time.

 

The wind rushed through his hair, the moonlight glinting in sparkling patterns off the skyline as he swung over the skyscrapers of his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! This chapter was 15 pages in Arial pt 13 font, 1.5 pt spacing. Almost 4,000 words. Truly a monster of a chapter, and I hope it's worth the weight.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for your patience. Let me know what you thought, if anyone out there is still reading.
> 
> I have a week and a half off, now, before fall semester. I'll be working on Version Two of That Time Tony Stark Adopted Spider-Man, as well as the sequel, and I have something else in the works, for those of you who are interested. So stayed tuned, if you're looking forward to any of those things.
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> For readers of my last piece, That Time Tony Stark Adopted Spider-Man, I'm considering writing a sequel.
> 
> However, there were a lot of problems with That Time that I want to clean up first, so I'll be releasing a Version Two sometime after this fic is finished. 
> 
> It will be the same story, but hopefully more detailed and likely with extra scenes to more fully flesh out the villains' plot line, since that seemed to get lost in the rest of the story and really didn't present as much conflict as I had planned on putting forward. I also had originally intended for there to be more drama as Peter adjusted to his new home life, with smoother transitions between being Absolute Strangers and then being all, 'Ohana Means Family'. 
> 
> I'm not entirely sure when I'll get to rewriting That Time, but when I finally do, expect the quality to more closely resemble this fic, as had originally been intended.


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